


Bits, Nibbles, and Bytes

by TheDarkMetalLady



Category: Gloryhammer (Band)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Family, Funny, Gen, Humor, Wholesome, timed writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22168906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkMetalLady/pseuds/TheDarkMetalLady
Summary: A collection of timed writing challenges. Will be updated whenever I feel like it.Bit = 1 minute writing pieceNibble = 4 minute writing pieceByte = 8 minute writing piece
Comments: 47
Kudos: 24





	1. [BYTE] The Darkroom Javelin Fork

**Author's Note:**

> **The Darkroom Javelin Fork**   
>  _Squire Proletius is required to attend a formal dinner. Things don't go as planned._

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The Darkroom Javelin Fork**   
>  _Squire Proletius is required to attend a formal dinner. Things don't go as planned._

“Pay attention to what is said to you,” he had been told many times. “Reply when necessary; talk no more frequently and no less frequently. Never contradict yourself if you can help it. Don’t give them even more reason to frown down upon you; they hate you enough for the fact that you’re allowed to be there despite not being from a royal family.”

Squire Proletius had paid these warnings some heed as he travelled to the mandatory formal dinner being hosted by the McDougall family. His knight master, Ser Regulon, was being honored for his exemplary performance in combat; as his squire, Proletius was required to attend the ceremonies despite being notoriously of non-royal descent. (Proletius was sure he didn’t want to be there just as much as the other nobles didn’t want him to be there, but he kept that comment to himself.)

However, there had been no mention in his instructions as to what manner of action to adopt in situations of emergency, such as when a strong gust of wind from the open window of the dining hall suddenly blew out all of the candles in the room, leaving them all in the panicked darkness of a busy evening. Furthermore, there were terrified squeals from some of the attendees -- men and women alike, though near indiscernible to the casual listener and all sounding several octaves higher -- about something small and furry brushing past their legs.

Proletius held his fork tightly and had his eyes shut, focusing and trying to listen to the underlying sounds hidden beneath all of the panicked chaos and confusion. Then… there! He suddenly whipped his knife across the room, sending it sailing through the air with deadly accuracy. 

There was a small squelch and high-pitched squeal.

When the candles were finally relit a moment later, no one commented on the fact that there was a dead mouse in the corner of the room, staked to the wall by the prongs a silver fork.

Only Ser Regulon noticed the squire “borrow” a drunk lord’s fork and wipe it off against his ceremonial armor before using it to finish his meal. 


	2. [BIT] With a Flash of Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **With a Flash of Thunder**   
>  _Proletius got an unexpected wake-up in the middle of the night._

The Grandmaster of Crail was awoken from his slumber by a crash from within his room. 

“Hootsman, not that I don’t like seeing you, but why are you in my room at 2 AM?”

“I wanted to visit?”

“What did you do.”

“I may have stolen some of Ralathor’s whiskey…”

“How much of it?”

“...”

“Hoots.”

“All of it.”

A boom of thunder shook all of Crail.

Proletius sighed. So much for sleeping in.


	3. [BYTE] Meaning of Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Meaning of Family**   
>  _Proletius ponders about rumors regarding his personal life while coming home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is technically a Byte because it started off as one; however, I had lost track of time and gone a bit over while writing it.

Everyone knew the whispers. 

_ “Are you serious? He’s not married?” _

_ “How can a man like him not find a wife?” _

_ “Do you think something’s wrong?” _

_ “Maybe he got burned once and decided never again.” _

_ “Who’d reject such a gentleman?” _

_ “I bet some monster told him to get out after seeing battle scars, or something. No respect.” _

He knew the rumors, was well aware of what many recruits in the barracks and nobles in the court spoke when they believed him to not be listening. 

He didn’t care.

After all, he knew something they didn’t -- something that he would never change for the world.

It was with this thought in mind and a small smile on his lips that he opened the doors to his small and modest home. Almost immediately, little footsteps were heard on the landing above, and then a little girl no older than five or six peered down from the upstairs landing and towards the door. She gave a small squeal and sprinted down the stairs, yelling.

“Daddy’s home! Lexi, Lexi, Daddy’s home!”

The small form collided into Proletius just as the knight managed to close the front door, while another silhouette appeared on the upstairs landing from a bedroom, this one that of a young adult.

“Dad!” 

Another figure collided into him, this one larger and with a lot more strength. It got a laugh from the knight as he pulled in both for a hug. “Missed you, too, girls,” he said, fondness evident in his voice. 

Eventually, the two girls peeled themselves away from their dad so that he could get some rest. However, the knight had other ideas. He crouched down in front of the smaller girl with a smile. “Have you been acting good for your older sister, Sasha?”

“Mhm!” the little girl responded, “I only stole cookies twice!”

That got a laugh from the knight. He picked the girl up and got up. “Did you leave any for me?”

“Mhm! A whole tray! Hid them from Lexi, too!”

“Hey!” Lexi protested. “I wouldn’t have eaten them!”

“Are they chocolate ones?” Proletius asked, starting to walk towards the kitchen while carrying Sasha. 

“Lexi’s favorite!” the little girl tattled sing-songedly, holding on to her dad.

“...okay, fine, maybe I would have eaten them,” Lexi admitted with a roll of her eyes, following her dad into the kitchen.

“Well, given that there are still some left, what do you say to trading some stories over eating cookies?”

“Yes!” both girls said almost simultaneously, anxious to hear what stories their dad had to tell after being out adventuring.

Within a few minutes, Proletius was dressed in comfortable civilian clothes and was sitting on the old armchair, one that Lexi had dragged in when she was younger as part of her quest loot. (It had needed reupholstering and major repairs, but in the end, the chair that had been meant to be scrapped ended up becoming what had to be the most comfortable chair in the kingdom.) Sasha walked over and handed him a plate of cookies (a bit dry and slightly burnt, but made at home with love and tasting better than anything in a while) while Lexi started the fireplace going. Afterwards, the two girls sat down on various seats in the room (Sasha claiming the entire couch and Lexi laying down on the soft fur rug closer to the fire), and Proletius began his tale.

No, the Grandmaster of Crail was not married, and his children were not bound to him by blood. 

And yet, they were the best family he could have never dared ask for. 


	4. [NIBBLE] Book of Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Book of Memories**   
>  _A trip to the citadel archives brings forth some memories to a hero from another era._

It was late at night in the mighty citadel of Dundee. Most of the Forces of Justice were asleep in their respective beds, attempting to get some rest before the epic battle that they would all face come morning; only those who were serving on night shift guard duty remained awake, and even they were not fully alert, heads leaning a bit to the side and eyelids drooping.

Meanwhile, deep within the citadel, in the ancient underground archives, a holographic hero of light was browsing through the collection as best as he could, brow furrowed in focus as he attempted to maintain a corporeal grip on books to shift them about, seeking out something specific and yet nothing in particular at all. As a hologram ghost, he had no need to sleep -- to sleep would mean to belong in the current world, in the current era.

An era he did not belong in. 

He flipped through the book he was currently holding, one that contained the history of the knights of Crail, stopping for a moment and lingering on a specific page. The holographic projection of a tear appeared in the corner of his eye. 

_ Alexandra “Lexi” MacCrail, Fourteenth Grandmaster of the Order of the Knights of Crail. _

Then, his hand lost its corporeal state, and the book fell from his grip and closed shut when it hit the ground. 


	5. [BYTE] The Legacy of Bitter White Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The Legacy of Bitter White Skies**   
>  _The new Grandmaster takes office during the onset of a bitter winter._

In the mighty Kingdom of Fife, a cold, harsh wind blew through the air, chilling all that were not protected from it. Slow, frozen tears fell gracefully from the skies and were carried off by gusts of wind more befitting of a vortex, blanketing the kingdom in a veil of cold, peaceful ice. 

In the mighty fortress of Crail, the Grandmaster sat at their desk, papers in front of them and quill in hand, the ink at the base of the feather long dry and the parchment on the desk blank as the day it was created. Their gaze was focused on the window of the study, watching the graceful fall and demise of cold crystals against the window pane. 

They shifted slightly, adjusting their uniform’s collar -- a bit too large for them, but it was the best they had on such short notice. They knew they had other things to do, other things to focus on, but to ask them to focus on the task ahead of them was a gargantuan task indeed, perhaps almost as gargantuan than the prospect of being the next leader of the mighty Order of the Knights of Crail.

The Grandmaster shook their head to themselves, tearing their gaze away from the window and instead looking around the office. The books and shelves were familiar yet different; they knew every book in the room, but they had seldom seen the books from this angle. The same went for the desk. The same went for the door. And for the window, and for the drawers, and for the portraits on the wall.

They looked at the portrait that was furthest to the right along the wall of portraits, in the second row. Their own face looked back at them, smiling with a smile that had left them and would return only once winter ended (and it would end, for no winter lasts forever). Beside their own smiling self, over a dozen other portraits hung and watched them, all observing their every action and manner of upholding the legacy of Crail.

They then looked away from the wall of portraits and looked at the picture frame that stood upon their desk, one with a small, miniature version of a very important and yet grandly insignificant portrait -- a portrait of the one who had been there, who had sat in the very same chair, before they did. 

The one whose legacy she inherited with the onset of bitter winter.


	6. [NIBBLE] Knightly Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Knightly Expectations**   
>  _When things don't go as planned, Ser Thomas turns to his squire to find out why._

Ser Thomas and Squire Proletius sprinted in through the front gates of the fortress, the heavy wooden doors shutting closed behind them. Both were breathing heavily. A thud was heard against the doors behind them, followed by a monstrous angry wail.

They looked at one another.

“Had you been listening at all when you were told, don’t wake the wyvern before we kill it?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I may have had some leftover wax in my ears from not having been given time to wash off in the morning -- it made hearing dumb orders and stupid decisions difficult.”

A sigh. “You’re a stubborn bastard, you know that?”

“I am aware.”

“Do you know why I chose you to be my squire?”

“I’m assuming you lost a bet.”

“...You think too low of yourself, Proletius.”

“No, you just have too high expectations of me.”

With that, the Squire walked off to go get food, hungry after being chased through the forest by an enraged wyvern -- one that would live to see another day, given by the lack of roars by the gate and bustle of knights as knight-masters yelled for the beast to be captured. 


	7. [BIT] Unexpected Drop-In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Unexpected Drop-In**   
>  _Ralathor was having a good day. Then he got a surprise visitor._

Ralathor, brilliant alchemist of Cowdenbeath, was having a surprisingly good day. In fact, he was so close to making a new alchemical discovery that would shake up the scholarly field of alchemy as a whole. 

Suddenly, part of his ceiling caved in. 

When the dust settled, Ralathor stormed over to where the cave-in occurred and found something most unusual… and no, it wasn’t the Hootsman.

Why was there a rather disoriented squire of Crail in his home?


	8. All Tied Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **All Tied Up**   
>  _Ralathor finds Hoots and Angus in a predicament and is faced with the decision of whether or not he should help._

The mighty and mysterious hermit Ralathor walked into the throne room of the citadel with a coffee in hand… and immediately stopped in his tracks. 

He sighed.

In front of him, in the center of the room, it appeared that the Hootsman and Prince Angus had done an oopsie and managed to get themselves tied up while attempting to untangle a long string of christmas lights.

“Hey Ralathor!” greeted the Hootsman. “Could you, uh, lend a hand?”

“I’m not paid enough to deal with this,” the hermit muttered under his breath.

“But… you’re not paid at all?” asked a confused Barbarian.

“Hoots! Not helping!” protested the Prince. 

“That is the point.”

The hermit finished his coffee, turned around, and left.

“Wait, come back!”

“No.”

“Ralathor!”

“No.”

Ser Proletius could handle this whenever he arrived. At least the knight was theoretically getting paid for it. 

In the meantime, Ralathor needed another coffee. And maybe to add a shot or few of vodka to it.

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'ed.


End file.
